The Stranger
by sellaphane
Summary: Arwen struggles with the decision of whether or not to stay with her people
1. Default Chapter

This story is still very much in the first draft stage. I'm really not entirely sure where it's going yet, so if you have any suggestions or comments, review me. Obviously, Tolkien created most of the characters in it, but there are a few original ones. Enjoy and don't be too offended if I'm not perfectly accurate on every miniscule detail. I am only a lowly mortal after all. 


	2. Arwen's Dilemma

The brilliant sunshine streamed through the green and gold canopy, casting a misty twinkling pattern of light on the surface of the water. Arwen stood still as a stone, gazing absently into the river on the border of her land. She was growing sick with worry - it had been weeks since they'd heard any news of the Fellowship. Arwen knew it was folly to think that their quest would be an easy one, or a brief, pleasurable journey, but still she longed for word of them.  
She started suddenly as she heard swift and silent footsteps approaching from the direction of her home. She sighed and glumly looked out at the water, her peaceful trance destroyed by the oncoming intruder.  
A thin, pale girl appeared from the cover of the trees. She hovered there nervously for a few moments, waiting for a signal to approach Arwen.  
"Oh, come, now," Arwen said, not glancing back at the girl. "Ayarel, you mustn't be afraid to approach me. I wouldn't hurt you, dear friend." Arwen turned slightly and forced a small smile.  
The familiar beaming grin of her closest friend spread across her dainty features and she glided quickly over to Arwen's side.  
"Brooding again?" Ayarel asked, the merest glimmer of amusement creeping into her innocent green eyes.  
"I worry," Arwen said quietly.  
"About the Fellowship, I presume." It was a statement more than a question. Ayarel's face and features grew darker. She worried for Arwen. These days, Arwen was always wandering off alone, pacing the forest or brooding on a rock or hours at a time. And it seemed for the time that Ayarel and her father were the only two people were the only people that Arwen would consent to see.  
Arwen's eyes were filled with sorrow when she met Ayarel's anxious stare. "I fear that their strength, while great among them, may not be enough to bring them all back safely," she said.  
"They knew that their errand was hardly a simple one. You knew just as well as they that there is great danger in times like these, and doubly so for those travelers," Ayarel reasoned.  
Arwen turned suddenly with none of her usual Elfish grace and uttered a dramatic sigh. "Ayarel, what if he doesn't return?" Arwen wailed, her voice full of anguish. "What if he doesn't come back from this journey and I never see him again? What do I do when Aragorn is lost to me?"  
Ayarel gazed into the depths of the water. "That is up to you to decide," she said, "and you alone can make that choice. I cannot tell you if it is folly to wait for him or to ignore the last shreds of hope and come with your kin to the West. You must follow your heart, not my advice."  
  
"But how am I to know when hope is lost?" Arwen pleaded. "You must be able to tell me that!"  
Ayarel shook her head. "You will know when your heart tells you," she said. She stepped back. "I will leave you to your thoughts now. I do not wish to interfere with this choice of yours, as it is not my burden to bear."  
Arwen looked like she was on the verge of tears. Her shoulders shook and she took several loud gulps of air. "Very well," she said quietly.  
"Arwen," Ayarel said quietly, "you must retain your composure. I know this is difficult for you, but do not allow yourself to fall victim to the flaws of lesser mortals!"  
Arwen ducked her head, looking ashamed of herself. Ayarel cared for her friend deeply, but seeing a noble lady falling to pieces was one thing that could not be pardoned. She watched Arwen struggling to maintain her dignity, and when she was satisfied that Arwen was calm, she turned and started back into the trees.  
A great rustling sound and an erratic patter of hooves on the opposite shore caused her to freeze in her stride and pivot quickly to see if there was a threat. Arwen too had heard the noise and was already at the water's edge, peering off into the trees on the far bank, searching for the source of the commotion. Their answer came in the form of a giant battle horse and rider emerging from the trees at the mossy worn bank. The horse was covered in sweat, dirt, and blood that appeared to be not only his but those of others. He carried a wounded and tattered rider on his tired back.  
  
The horse stumbled his way to the very edge of the water and he dropped with some clumsiness to its knees. He sipped at the water with greed, taking no notice when his rider slumped forward over his neck and moaned piteously.  
By the time that Ayarel had registered that this man did not bear any unfriendly symbols or markings, Arwen had already picked up her skirts and was wading through the water towards the injured horse and rider. Ayarel made to follow her, but Arwen shook her head furiously.  
"Run back and seek my father!" she called, reaching to support the rider as he toppled from the saddle altogether.  
Ayarel turned back to the trees and fled as fast as her feet would carry her. Arwen could hear the receding footfalls in the back of her mind as she struggled to prop the wounded man up against a rock and calm him some to stop the bleeding. He had already lost a lot of blood through the great slash wounds at his sides and on his arms and legs, his split lip and bloody nose and various scrapes and scratches that all had a faintly red sheen to them. He had a nasty bruise forming just above his left eye, and was covered in mud and dirt. Arwen wondered with a sense of doom where the battle had taken place and how terrible the losses had been this time. Tearing off strips of his tattered vest and cloak, she wrapped the wounds on his arms and hands. She filled his small flash with water and put it to his lips, urging him to drink, but he slid further into unconsciousness and drank very little.  
Night was beginning to descend over the woods and Arwen's mood grew darker with the sky. She had no fear of being out in the woods after dark, even with the war brewing in the East and battles waging so close her lands, but her patient would not be among the living much longer. He was fading quickly and if her father didn't arrive soon, any information the stranger could provide about the battle, or maybe even the progress of the Fellowship, would be utterly lost.  
As if Lord Elrond had heard her silent pleas, he and Ayarel appeared on the shore in a small boat, followed by another with a stretcher and healer for the stranger. As dusk approached, Elrond and his apprentice rowed away with the strange man, leaving Arwen, Ayarel and the miserable horse alone on the foreign shore. 


	3. News of the Shadow

Chapter 2  
Ayarel shivered and pulled her cloak tighter around her. The balmy day had given way to a blustery evening. As she and Arwen had tried to guide the pitiful horse through the shallows of the river the wind had seared through her skin and chilled her to the bones. She was huddled now beside Arwen inside the room of Lord Elrond's house where the stranger was being treated for his wounds. He was still unconscious, but his breathing had steadied and his skin no longer resembled cooled wax and there was some color returning to his cheeks. After they had assured a comfortable resting place for the warrior's horse, Arwen had hurried off to find the stranger, though for what purpose Ayarel was unsure. Arwen had been unable to heal the man earlier, and she was unsure of what would possess her to think she could now. Nevertheless, Ayarel had followed obediently though she longed to return to her own home and change into her softest gown and burrow herself under the warm blankets of her bed.  
Arwen sensed the discomfort of her friend and left the injured man's bedside. She placed her hand gently on Ayarel's shoulder. "You should go and rest now," she said softly. "You have done much this day and deserve a nice long sleep."  
Ayarel smiled. "Then I shall return home and warm up some," she replied. With a small bow to Lord Elrond and a quick wave to Arwen, Ayarel retreated once again to the breezy outdoors. She hurried along the path and finally found the refuge of her home. It took her mere seconds after she had crawled into bed to fall fast asleep without a trouble in her mind.  
  
Arwen remained steadfastly in a chair beside the soldier's bed through the rest of the night and well in to the morning. She was satisfied that her father had done an adequate job of healing. Already some of the wounds showed visible improvement, and some strength had returned to the man. He hadn't woken up yet, but he was turning and mumbling softly in his sleep.  
Near dawn, the man's eyes opened, and he gazed around dimly with a look of complete bewilderment on his face.  
"Where am I?" he asked in a scratchy voice.  
"You are in Rivendell, sir, in the House of Elrond," Arwen said softly. "Are you thirsty or hungry?"  
"Well, thirsty yes," he said. He made an effort to sit up a bit straighter, but fell back in defeat on his pillow. "I don't think I have the strength to eat yet."  
Arwen sought the mug and flask of water from the arrangement she and Ayarel had prepared during the night with food and drink should the man wake up and need anything. She filled the mug and set it gently on the stand beside the bed, and then helped to arrange the pillows so that the man could sit up and drink.  
"So, you're an elf then?" the man said after he had drained the glass of every last drop.  
Arwen nodded. "I am Arwen Undomiel," she said. She refilled the mug.  
"I encountered some Elves once," the man reminisced. "In the South of Mirkwood, dodgy place that it is. They called me Errandir. I've been told it means 'lonely wanderer.' Funny sort of a name, wouldn't you think?"  
"I suppose they named you that for a reason," she said, hoping not to sound too forward.  
"Well sure," he said, chuckling. "It was before my days of fighting. I was out on a reconnaissance mission with some of the other men, when all the trouble with goblins was brewing, perhaps you remember?" Arwen nodded politely and he continued. "And a group of the nasty creatures besieged us. It was really quite awful I remember, and I escaped from the battle fast as I could before they tired of my companions and came after me. I was but a child then, and my whole mind was on flight. I left quick as I could and sought cover in the trees. I wandered for days, my horse having been injured, and I'd had to leave him. I was on the brink of death from thirst and starvation and pure loneliness for my companions, even my horse when a group of elves stumbled across me in their search for the remains of the goblin battle. They took me in, and at once declared that it was my situation in life to be a lonely wanderer. The name just sort of stuck." The man grinned and shook his head, and sipped some more at the water. "How times have changed. The Elves are not there to save us anymore."  
"I beg your pardon," Arwen said, slightly offended, "but it was the Elves that have saved you just now!"  
"All the same, my lady," Errandir said, inclining his head. "You have saved one man, and an insignificant one at that. The rest of the mighty army I was with are laid to waste by orcs of the fiercest sort, those bearing the White Hand of Saruman."  
"And what exactly were Saruman's orcs doing so close to the borders of Rivendell?" Arwen asked suspiciously.  
"They weren't so close to Rivendell as you might think," Errandir replied. "Closer to Fangorn really, but that's to be expected as Isengard is right on the borders. But they've been passing over all sorts of lands, in pursuit of a motley collection of creatures."  
Arwen's heart sank. The Fellowship would surely not withstand the journey to Mordor being pursued by Saruman's armies as well as that of Mordor itself. "What. what sort of creatures?" she faltered, feeling tears well up in her eyes.  
"Rumor has it that there's men and elves and even dwarves all traveling together with little creatures they call 'hobbits' but I've never heard or seen such a thing," Errandir explained. He fidgeted a bit. "I hate to be rude, my lady, but that food over there on the sideboard begins to taunt me. Do you think I might trouble you for some?"  
Arwen leapt up far too quickly and scuttled over to the prepared arrangement. "Of course!" she cried, but her voice sounded choked and oddly distorted. She took a deep breath as she placed the repast on a tray and gave it to the man, who set to it quickly.  
After a great pause in which he devoured all the food on the tray, the man swallowed a gulp more of water and then looked back at Arwen. "Have you heard much about that group I spoke of then?" he asked. "I heard they started here, from the heart of this stronghold not so long ago."  
"Indeed they did," Arwen said. "A fortnight has not yet passed since they were gone. I fear greatly for their safety. It is not a burden that they should have to bear."  
"Well, I know nothing of their burden except for that of being pursued by the least savory creatures of all Middle-earth. Huge bands of them too; it'll be a wonder if they ever get to wherever it is that they are going, I'd say!" Errandir said, suppressing a yawn. "Bless me! Now that I am properly fed and watered again, I must say that I'm quite tired. I hate to draw this chat to a close, but I'm afraid I can't keep my eyes open much longer!"  
Arwen nodded and rose from her chair. "Then I bid you farewell for now," she said, moving towards the door. "If you need anything at all, do not hesitate to ask for it; we are at your service should you need it." And with those words, she slipped from the room and out of the house, making for the tall trees and her favorite brooding spot along the river, tears streaming down her face. 


End file.
